"But," you are asking, "how can one walk around a cold, damp farm (with the threat of stepping in the poop of multifarious creatures that every farm presents) in stocking feet?!"
An excellent question, perceptive reader. The answer is: one cannot.
After Barb and I exhausted our extensive repertoire of incentivizing, cajoling, threatening, wheedling, ordering, begging, etc., I ended up carrying Suzanne around for an hour with her cold feet in the pockets of my sweatshirt.
Then she was happy.
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